


let me have this night and I will give you the day

by Pareidolia



Category: Hyakujitsu no Bara
Genre: M/M, Maiden Rose, Smut, Yuletide 2009
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 21:36:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pareidolia/pseuds/Pareidolia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Klaus's hopes and disappointments. Spoilers for up to chapter 12 of the manga.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let me have this night and I will give you the day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Miaou Jones (miaoujones)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miaoujones/gifts).



> I'm not sure this is exactly what you wanted, but I do hope it's not too far off. Thank you for such a detailed, inspiring prompt.
> 
> And much thanks to everyone else I bugged. The story'd be languishing without your support!

When Klaus first hears of Taki Reizen at Ruckenwald, he thinks they are similar. Here is a man whose country, people and duty mean everything to him: a worthy opponent, a worthy man, and one who will take all Klaus's skill and dedication to breach open and lay his secrets bare for his country.

Then he meets Taki. It is their second meeting, not in a sea of flowers, but a sea of dogs lying in wait to rip apart this man from an enemy country, and Klaus is left as bewildered and awed as the first time. It has been ten years; Taki is a bit taller, small still, but sleek and deadly in a way he wasn't as a child. Every inch a lord now as he was then, perfect straight walk, commanding air and it grates on the other Euroteans. How dare their enemy plot so blatantly against them in their own school?

But it suits Taki. It suits the little boy half his size who chose him, it suits this proud man he became, who can take on half their class and win, who can toss Klaus himself to the ground like he's nothing more substantial than a wooden dummy. It should anger Klaus, make him more determined to succeed in his mission.

It only fascinates him. Taki has strength he has to respect but there's more there: vulnerability. Only a brief flash, choked in Taki's throat, shining in the corners of those piercing blue eyes, and he can't look away, can't forget it. It doesn't belong there but it stirs something in him. He doesn't want anyone else to see it.

Klaus was raised among flowers and Taki reminds him of a time before he had to worry about war. Taki is beautiful and bold, fragile and sensitive in the same breath: a breathtaking flower, Klaus thinks, barbed and dangerous in its own right, too lovely, too strong and delicate for this world and its ugliness. If Klaus could, he would secret it away. Flowers wither and die under stress.

He won't let that happen. So he gentles his approach for his mission. His duty.

But though Taki was stubborn and thorny at first, he warms under the never-ending months of Klaus's attention, unfolding like a bud spreading its petals to the sun. His flower, Klaus thinks at first, then, later, the one flower in the world that can complete him. The ice in Taki's eyes melts to tranquil sky, the iron-straight line of his back relaxing in Klaus's presence and the distance between them erodes under the waters of their friendship, until he thinks he may drown if it were gone. Every breath Klaus takes carries Taki's scent until he can't breathe without it. They bump elbows in the halls and it takes all Klaus has to not splay his palms around those slender limbs.

He can't, not yet. Taki trusts him, allows Klaus to tend to him in their rooms, bringing him dinner so he doesn't need to brave the cafeteria crowds, bandaging his wounds and bathing his sore feet. Klaus can see the sparks of awareness in Taki's eyes, the bodily shiver with each stray touch to his sensitive wrists and ankles, the careful distance Taki doesn't always quite keep. Soon, he thinks, Taki will give himself. Soon, this precious flower will be his.

Or maybe, Klaus will have to give himself first.

The night he learns Taki was called back to his country, the night Taki accepts his touches, his hunger, is when Klaus realizes how far he's fallen. Taki is strong and lovely, _his flower_ like the one Grandfather spoke of and each breath Taki takes in the circle of his arms only makes him more sure. Taki won't run away with him, won't follow him, but he can follow Taki. He will.

Taki will be his country, his duty, the only one who matters. Taki would not have allowed Klaus into his bed if he was uncertain, undecided, and the promise of their united future is enough to fight for. If he has Taki, he will give himself over freely, fight his own countrymen for his lord and master.

Klaus is not the man he was.

(But Taki still is.)

* * *

After the knighting ceremony, something is wrong.

_Knight_, the word, the title, resonates in Klaus's head. In Eurote, a knight is a trusted warrior, bonded to his lord with the nobility of his blood, the camaraderie of the battlefield, the loyalty of his vow, respected and revered for the role he fills.

Klaus has sworn his allegiance to Taki, belongs to him now, his knight and lover. But Taki is cold, distant, slapped him away when he went to touch him and it aches, something he turns over and over in his head but it sits still, dead weight on his chest. So warm and pliant on the train, the desperate grip of those delicate hands hard enough to bruise, in the shape of tiny bird wings flush against his spine. Taki'd needed him then, marked him his, and he had felt he belonged to Taki more than he does with title of Taki Reizen's only knight on his shoulders.

It feels wrong, he thinks, and goes to Taki's quarters in the dead of night, letting himself in through the unlocked door. A sign of trust; Klaus wishes he could be sure it were for him.

The room is large, the top floor of the mansion, traditional and lavish, befitting a lord of the Eastern land. The lights are off but there is a window occupying most of the wall and Taki is framed in the lights from their night watch, his gaze on his men below. His people are there, those trusting him with their lives, and Taki is high above them, but theirs more than anything. So engrossed in them he doesn't even notice.

Klaus knows this about Taki, he always has, but it's too much now. Taki turns then, wariness in his gaze where it should be welcoming, like it was back in Ruckenwald, and Klaus pins him to the cold glass window, covers his lips with his own before he can hear what he doesn't think he wants to hear, before his hopes are dashed to the ground below.

And Taki's lips are unyielding at first, still, but Klaus knows Taki, knows how to kiss him to leave him wide-eyed and wobbly, any words dead in his throat, and he slants their mouths together with exactly that purpose, once, twice, and again, Taki's lips parting like petals under his questing tongue.

Taki is boneless and pliant in his arms against the cool window, his eyes wide and beautiful. Klaus slides a hand beneath the simple white shirt, palm flat against Taki's chest, feeling the rapid, excited rhythm of his heart, the unabashed honesty of his body. Klaus's own body is speeding to match. But then there's the start of a protest and Klaus covers Taki's mouth again, kissing it away. If Taki speaks or sings, the song he always wants to hear will never be the same.

"Beautiful," he breathes between kisses, deep distracting ones that make Taki's toes curl where he's standing on Klaus's feet, where he stood without even thinking, like they did in Ruckenwald. Taki's eyes are wild, drugged in the brief glimpses he catches from under those lashes and Klaus's body responds as easily to Taki as it always did.

He needs to get closer. Too much, Taki's too much for him, his and his alone and he presses forward, lifts Taki up against the window bars, bracing him so he can't thrash into them, and both of them grunt when their bodies meet and fit. Too close, too hot, the window steaming behind them with each stroke of skin and Taki shudders when Klaus catches a perfectly arched toe, guides it around his hips. It should be the bed, it's always been the bed, but bed is time for second thoughts, second protests, and Klaus doesn't want that, not when he feels he only need close his eyes for Taki to disappear.

It's a struggle to get their trousers down but Klaus manages, distracting Taki with sharp little grinds together and Taki cries out like he's hurt when Klaus grasps his cock, fingering the head with a maddeningly thorough touch until it's leaking wet and eager across his hand. He smears the wetness down the shaft, making the strokes slick and easy and Taki practically bites down on his lips, never-ending little "ahs" he can't control, thrusting into his fist jerky and abandoned. Taki's shaking, arching, thrusting, his thighs squeezing tight and distracting and accidental on Klaus's own dick.

Sense memory, just like the hot tight bliss it was inside Taki before, that once (not again, not now, not now) and he needs this even more, close and tantalizingly easy. Taki's sensitive there, loves having his thighs attended to when Klaus can convince him to stay still while he explores and learns; it'd be good for Taki too. And he asks then, begs, "Can I, Taki, please, can I," because fuck, fuck, it's almost enough for him just like this and Taki doesn't answer one way or another, just squirming with arousal when Klaus reaches down to slick his thighs too. He shifts, rubbing them together shallowly before he slides his own dick between Taki's slick flushed thighs. Taki's hips cant at the sudden touch, the friction, the angle too much, too good. Taki reaches for him when he comes, clutching his shoulders and quaking, just like before, sweet scent washing over him, and that's all it takes for Klaus too.

"Taki," he breathes after, washing Taki clean while he sleeps. Prayer and benediction to his only lord and master, to all he has left. Know your place, Taki had said, cold and disparaging. He'll be learning why soon, he's sure.

But his place is by Taki's side as his friend, his lover and his knight.

* * *

Klaus realizes later, he didn't know the full ramifications of being Taki's knight.

He is losing Taki now, losing him to everyone else for whom he is just commander of their war, and he's more to Klaus, everything to Klaus, but none of it seems to matter. He only feels whole and human drenched in Taki's skin, the only time Taki's his, but as every day passes, the distance between them stretches and he is his master's blade, but not a dear, precious one, not what he imagined when he left his family, his country.

But even if he'd known, he'd still be here, an eternity without Taki meaningless when his place is by his side, even if he is destined to be nothing more than his discarded sword.

* * *

At the interrogation, Klaus had been prepared to die, Taki Reizen's filthy, loyal dog to the end. A sword without a master has no purpose and after what he'd done, he wasn't a sword fit for his lord.

But Taki still came for him. He came for him, stayed with him, is still here and Klaus still isn't sure it's not the drugs.

Taki saved him, even after Klaus injured him so badly.

It's quiet in Taki's chambers. It's silent outside now, those damn bastards who interrogated him finally gone. Taki had blatantly overruled them; he hadn't let them get a word in edgewise, had ignored them, hadn't even let them into his rooms and it won't reflect well on Taki later, but Klaus can't bring himself to care. Taki's focus was on him, only him (not his country, his people, his duty), and maybe his body's damaged and Suguri's got him pumped full of drugs, but Taki's eyes have been on him all afternoon, all evening, all night, and he basks under it, undeserving and selfish.

Suguri probably thought it would, and it tempers him physically only for now, but the drugs don't help his hunger. It thrums inside his body, a companion to the steady aches of his wounds, a distracting buzz, because Taki's over there at his bedside, barely an arm's reach away. It reminds him of the time Taki had gotten sick in Ruckenwald after the rain and hadn't slept easily until Klaus had tucked him under all their spare blankets and held his hand.

_Don't go beyond my hand's reach!_ Taki had said: a distance for Taki to cross, not for him, not now, after what he had done. But only on the battlefield.

Taki's worried (the drink he's nursing, the fact that he's awake at this hour or even here, watching over him, when he needs sleep even more) but even now, Taki can't cross this distance between them, this distance that shouldn't be here. If Taki was less hurt, if he were less filthy with his own blood and earned guilt, if Taki wouldn't fight it, he would drag Taki down with him, injuries be damned, and reassure him like he did back in their shared rooms so long ago, with only the space between their bodies to keep them apart.

Instead, he focuses on his breathing. Each deep breath is hell on his chest wounds, his bandages, but it's noisy and Taki will know he's fine.

The sudden rustle of clothes breaks his efforts and sends a flush of heat up his body. Taki is standing, undressing, and he doesn't need to turn to see it, the image engraved into his eyelids. His body is already prickling, throat drying like he's parched and he shifts, ignoring the scream of his wounds to watch Taki climb into bed. He's beautiful in moonlight, his shirt crisp and white, revealing even more pristine skin and the shadows of his throat and collarbone and Taki catches Klaus's hand before it rises, eyes narrowed. Something lurches inside him at the glare and he doesn't fight it, waiting until Taki's settled before shifting closer.

Taki's stilling hand becomes a guiding one then, a warm weight and he follows it to Taki's side. It's more than he expected, more than he deserves, unworthy for even a backwards glance, but his hunger for Taki is never satiated and he will never be able to refuse him anything. Too strong, too beautiful, his lord, his flower.

The touch of Taki's hand against his cheek is like a bird's wing, fleeting and gone before he knows it. It hurts then, a physical loss, and Klaus chases his fingers, catching them with his mouth, kissing them gently, and he feels the tremble of Taki's thigh beneath him. Taki's eyes widen, brief flash of brilliant blue before they flutter closed and he doesn't pull away, doesn't protest; permission, Klaus reads, because Taki crossed the distance, and he starts pulling himself up when Taki's hand on his back tightens, hard enough to pain and halt.

"You're injured," Taki murmurs, wet fingers stroking along his lips, his cheeks, tracing his face in a gentle, familiar touch. He settles on the torn shoulder and Klaus flinches. "My knight."

And it ignites something in him, Taki's voice enough to light him aflame, burn through his guilt for now, because Taki would not come to him if he did not need him too, and it fills him with awe and wonder at this man to whom he is sworn. He tugs Taki's head down the centimeters that used to feel like kilometers, kissing him deeply. Taki's breath hitches and it's not forced, not struggled, and sweet, light like it used to be so long ago, so far away. They used to kiss like this, the first few times, and Klaus wonders, briefly, if he'd been able to keep Taki there, kept Taki without his country, his people, his duty, would it always have been like this?

But then Taki would not be the boy who chose him then, nor the man who came to an enemy country to steal away their assets or the man for whom Klaus would throw away everything. Taki seizes up then, struggling for breath when the kiss breaks. His lips are red soft swollen and Klaus can't look away; he never could. He touches them briefly, feeling the stretched skin and Taki's eyes open, dilated in the dim light. The familiar scent of arousal rises off Taki, heady and sweet.

He slides closer on the bed, buries his face into Taki's groin, kissing it hot and desperate through stiff fabric and Taki won't allow him to use his injured arm, the stern hand a warning at his back, but he doesn't need it for this. He doesn't need it to catch the zip between his teeth and coax down Taki's trousers, his underwear and the head of his cock rising wet, swollen and eager under his gaze. Beautiful, he thinks, and says, and Taki flushes bright, crying out at the touch of his lips.

Taki's arms are tight on his shoulders now, an unyielding restraint; he has always been stronger than he looks, and it's difficult to move, but this part of Taki is achingly familiar to him and Taki is beautifully responsive. He brushes his tongue over the flared head, dipping the point into the slit; the first murmured reverence, "my lord," pulls a cry from Taki's lips, hips canting into the touch even under the weight of Klaus's body and they both have each other now, don't they.

He lifts his gaze to meet Taki's when he swallows him down. Taki looks ruined now, face bright with exertion, hair clinging messily to his face, eyes blown to rings of silvery-blue with arousal; he has never been more beautiful. His hips are jerking unsteadily, speeding and slowing, Taki's last efforts at control and it won't succeed here. Taki's cries are muffled through bitten lips and if Klaus could, he would slip his fingers in, stroke those abused lips, but Taki's got him trapped, with hands that are spasming, curling like his toes do with pleasure. It only takes one last murmur, words he can't say, hopes he can't express around the stretched-hot skin of Taki's cock, and Taki comes. The soft cry rings in his ears, loud and sweet and perfect. Klaus swallows it all, and rests against his thigh, savoring the moment.

Taki releases him, his face still hot, still panting and Klaus waits, waits for the moment Taki will squirm out from under him, waits for the distance to coalesce again. Instead, Taki's hands fall reassuring and warm on his face, cupping his cheek with the same gentleness from before, and Klaus closes his eyes, feeling those slender lovely fingers secure and tender in his hair.

The first night Taki has come to him in any country.

Nestled in Taki's lap, for the first time in ages, Klaus dreams not of the past, but of the future, of the scent of flowers unstained by death and blood, safe and perfect and his.


End file.
